Now he was heir to a dukedom. He had obtained the power to grant her dream. Marriage to him would return herto Society, first as a countess, in time as a duchess. But now she wouldn’t marry him because of the shame she thought she’d bring him—and more important, their children. That her presence in their life would make it more difficult for him and them to be accepted.
Bollocks.
How could he ask his parents not to publicly recognize him as their son? How could he break their hearts when they’d already been broken once before because of him? How could he turn aside the inheritance they were proud and overjoyed to pass on to him? He wasn’t even certain the law would allow it.
He felt the way he’d assumed he would have if he’d stayed on the ship heading out to sea—untethered, unmoored, desperately searching for a safe harbor. He didn’t seem to know who he was any longer. The path he was on was full of brambles, and he didn’t know how to navigate his way around them without first encountering the bite of their thorns.
The ache in his heart was nearly unbearable. And he knew of no way to keep others from tumbling into the brambles with him.
It was the clearing of Mick’s throat that stirred him from the uneasy musings. His family was gathered around him, the ladies sitting in cushioned chairs, their husbands perched on the arms. Except for his mum, who had never remarried, had no interest in doing so, had devoted her life to raising the children of others.
His heart squeezed so tightly that it caused an ache to spread through his chest. He loved these people with every fiber of his being. For thirty-three years, until Thea, they had been the best part of his life. Shoving, arguing, taking a switch to his backside. Sharing confidences, protecting his back, standing firm at his side. Giving him a difficulttime on occasion—especially Aiden—but always ensuring he knew they’d never let him down, they were all on this journey together. They would never leave him behind.
His siblings’ faces were a combination of anxiousness in their eyes or smiles they were fighting to hold back. All day he’d practiced what he was going to say, and now the words scattered like dead leaves blown by the wind.
“We all know you’re going to marry Althea,” Aiden finally said into the quiet. “You don’t have to be nervous about telling us. We approve of her.”
If only that was it. He sighed. Shook his head. “Actually, it appears I won’t be marrying her, but that’s not why I asked you all to come. I’ve recently learned who I am.”
At the widening of their eyes, he shifted his stance. That wasn’t right. He knew who he was. He was Beast Trewlove—only he wasn’t. He was supposed to be Benedict Campbell. He appreciated that everyone held their tongues, didn’t bombard him with questions, gave him time to realign his thoughts.
“I’ll try to make a long story short. My parents are Ewan and Mara Campbell, the Duke and Duchess of Glasford. I’m their only son”—he shook his head—“their only child. Heir to the dukedom.”
“Bloody hell,” Finn said quietly. “You’re nobility. Legitimate.”
“Apparently so, yes.”
“How do youknowthey’re your parents?” Gillie asked.
He felt as though he was abandoning her, leaving her as the only one who knew nothing at all about how she’d come to be.
“I’m the spitting image of him, and the duke and I”—Beast waved his fingers by the right side of his head—“it seems this is a common trait in the family.”
“You don’t seem very happy about all this,” his mum said gently.
“To be honest, it’s an upheaval in my life. It’s like a storm that comes in and changes the shoreline. Some of it is the same, some is gone, and some is just different. I haven’t quite sorted it all. They want to visit with you. They want me to return to Scotland with them for a few weeks, until they come back to London for the Season.”
“You’re a Scot?” Aiden blurted.
He’d intended to be methodical in the telling, giving them all the important details. Instead, he was omitting things. “Born in Perthshire.”
“Why did they give you away?” Fancy asked.
He gave up on keeping the long story short and shared with them all the duke and duchess had told him.
“Christ,” Aiden muttered when he was done.
“Your language,” Mum admonished.
“Sorry, Mum, but Christ. I thought this sort of intrigue only happened in books.”
“I wish that were the case.”
“You’re going to make a wonderful duke,” Gillie said.
“I know Glasford,” Thorne said. “Not well, but we have crossed paths. As I recall he has other titles. I assume he’ll give you one as a courtesy.”
“Earl of Tewksbury.”
